


Two Pool Noodles

by wonkystank



Category: Black Widow (Movie 2020), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Clint Barton Dies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Lives, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Tony Stark Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22459447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonkystank/pseuds/wonkystank
Summary: After Peter Parker returns, he is left shattered. Tony isn't around anymore to help him. He is overwhelmed and alone and drowning.Clint Barton takes the fall. Natasha Romanov is left with the weight of his sacrifice, of her life. She cracks in two, and moves away from the noise of the city, of the Compound.Two months after the Return, Peter Parker is standing on the porch of a cabin in Vermont.He knocks.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	Two Pool Noodles

**Author's Note:**

> For Laura - This isn't exactly what you asked for but here you go <333 ily and idk your ao3.   
> Clintasha if you read into it?   
> Quick note that Peter's anxiety here is drawn from my personal experience and from one of my closest friend's experiences with anxiety. I feel like I process the world differently than everyone else and I get introspective and everything seems distant and overwhelming and threatening. I don't really know what it is, but if anyone has any ideas other than standard anxiety-ish that I should look into, feel free to recommend. If any of it seems a little across the board, that's because I wrote this late at night in weird chunks to cope with some events of late.   
> ST//RKERS DNI  
> tw: strong mental health themes, mentions of metaphorical drowning

He doesn't remember how he arrived. Somehow he got to _freaking backwoods Vermont_ and he can't remember. 

He knows that he's in Vermont. He thinks he saw a sign. He knows that he's standing on the porch of a cabin nestled in the mountains. He has eyes, of course. He knows who lives in the cabin now, and he knows who lived in it years before. He thinks he'll be welcomed inside, but he's not certain. 

Peter knocks. He waits a moment. 

The door opens, revealing Natasha Romanoff. Her eyes steely, on edge, one hand drifting towards where _something_ must be sheathed. Once she recognizes him, however, her gaze turns relaxed, but exhausted. Her hand drops, leaving whatever it was creeping to. 

"Inside?" she asks. 

Peter knows there's probably a look in his eyes, tension in his shoulders, a wild, intense feeling about him that any casual observer would notice, let alone the best spy in the world. He knows that he's potentially being invited in out of pity. He doesn't care. 

He crosses the threshold. 

\------

A few minutes later, he's situated on an old maroon corduroy loveseat with a steaming cup of tea in his hands. 

He takes a moment to look around the cabin. Knick-knacks are scattered all over, and Peter thinks that at least three quarters of the possessions are from thrift stores and garage sales. It's wholly rustic, rough around the edges. It feels beat up, bruised. It is homey and lived-in, but it does not feel like Natasha Romanoff. It feels like Clint Barton, or maybe simply a shell of him. 

He supposes that makes sense, considering that it used to be his house. 

Interrupting his thoughts, Natasha sits down on the armchair in front of him. She takes a few deep breaths, seeking to steady herself. 

"I used to be calm, collected all the time. Even after the Snap. I just had to keep keeping it together. If I didn't, the world would fall apart. I kept going. Pieces of me fell off along the way, but I ignored the losses. And then, I got everything back. Except for Clint. There was twice the work, but also twice the people to help, and I finally got a break. But something, some part of what happened, what we did to make everyone return - it made the rest of my brittle self snap in two. Screaming nightmares, every time I fell asleep, about the people I've-" Natasha's voice breaks off for a moment. Peter glances up, and sees her staring at the ceiling, but far away, beyond, a single tear falling down her cheek. 

"Nat? I, uh, I mean, Miss Romanoff?" Peter asks, hoping to pull her out of whatever terrible time she might have been reliving. 

She seemed to come back to herself then, but something of a haunted look continued to occupy her eyes. 

"Peter, you don't need to be formal. Natasha, Nat, whatever you're comfortable with."

"Oh, okay. Yeah, Mister St- er, Tony just always called you Nat when he told stories about the old days. But, um, go ahead again if you want."

She pauses, and when she opens her mouth again, her words are glazed with a tinge of nostalgia, saying, "Tony. He was good. We messed up, but he was the best of us," Natasha pauses once more before proceeding to spin the rest of her story. 

"I did so, _so_ many bad things. And when the return happened, all of that caught up with me. I couldn't cope, nothing would stop it. Rarely more than an hour's sleep at a time, I was paranoid and unable to hide it. I became sloppy, and for a spy, and with my upbringing, that is the deepest shame. 

"I stopped functioning, stopped coping. I knew I needed somewhere else, somewhere less public than the compound. Away from the rest, away from Laura, and the kids, Pepper and Morgan. Somewhere where no one would see me slip up. Russia is too far, and it is not my home after the pain it has brought me. The team, they were family, but I cannot recognize them anymore and try as they might, they will not be the same and they will not be my true home. Barton saved me, long ago. He told me about his safe house, not in Venezuela or Grand Cayman or on the Amalfi Coast like most operatives. Just a few hours north, the home of a former mentor. He made it his own. 

"I was left with many houses after the return, but homeless. This was my last resort. I was taught always to be flexible, to change to fit my situation. Here, unfamiliar territory, and simplicity, and perfection unnecessary, I am maybe not recovered, but I am better. I left pieces of myself behind, but I found some replacements here. 

"I am lost, but I am beginning to find myself again, and if I am not perfect, that is okay."

Natasha's words shattered the wall inside of him and the emotions flooded his senses. 

He half-lunged across the space between them, sobbing fiercely, desperately. Peter clutched at her clothing, wishing for anything solid to anchor him. 

Natasha made kind keening noises and held him. She whispered softly, "I know kiddo, I know. It hurts, so badly. You can hurt, feel it. Let it out, kid, there you go."

She began to card through the boy's hair gently, all while continuing to mutter kind affirmations. When Peter began to breathe too quickly, she reminded, "Deep breaths, remember little spider? Slow as you can manage. Just follow mine. Okay?" 

They stayed like that for a long time, until Peter's tears had dried and then some time after. 

Natasha quietly asked, "Do you want to talk now, Peter? It's okay to leave it for a little while." 

She waited in silence, nearly giving up on receiving Peter's answer, when a meek voice interrupted, saying, "No, I want to-" and then more assertively, "I want to talk now." Peter extracted himself from her arms, and positioned himself where he would be able to make eye contact with Natasha if he wanted. 

"It's just," Peter continued, "I don't know. I feel so _lost_ sometimes. And, and I used to go to May, or to T- Tony, but Tony, he's gone now. And May has changed a lot, and I guess I could go to her sometimes, but she wouldn't get half of it, like the superhero stuff that Tony would help with. And when I get those lost feelings, she doesn't see them either. 

"It's like, everything is grating and crushing and overwhelming and I can't function but I just _have_ to. May's tone of voice might annoy me, but I still water the plants when she asks because otherwise she would _know_. She would know that something was wrong but what if- what if she didn't help? Like, oh, having a bad day, how about making you do more stuff. 

"It's been two months. Just two months. And my teachers act the way that I'm scared May might. They just pile on more and more work because we have to get stuff done since we're so behind."

Peter sniffs, and another tear streaks down his cheek. 

"I feel like I'm drowning in everything. I'm drowning, but it's all the time and I won't die from it alone. I- I need help, Nat. It sucks, like this."

Natasha stroked his back. With a small smile, a glimmer of hope in her eyes, she reassured, "Yeah, Peter, it does suck right now. But we can get you help, kid. I'm a weak swimmer right now too, but I have two pool noodles, and I'm going to toss one over to you. It's not going to support your full weight. It's not going to take you back to shore. But it'll help you float as you learn to swim. I promise you, I swear on my life that things get better, things become easier. This is not the end." 

He broke, on a corduroy couch, in a cabin, nestled in the Appalachians. 

But as Natasha Romanoff, former Avenger, renowned assassin, product of Russia's Red Rooms put her arms around him, Peter Parker began to heal again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Generally you shouldn't relate your own stories unsolicited when trying to comfort someone. However, Natasha is a people expert who can make the call and Peter didn't appear as though he would begin soon. Also, I'm the author, I do what I want, and I wanted to do this. But yeah, wait for your loved one to tell you what they want, maybe ask if they want advice, or just a listener, or whatever because telling your own depressing story unasked is far less reliable at helping than, "Hey, what do you need right now?" Imagine actually asking what people want instead of assuming. Crazy, right?   
> Please don't leave criticism on this fic. It's pretty personal and your hot takes on my writing are not appreciated here. I don't need to over think my writing and my boundaries any more than I already do.


End file.
